Terra Incognita
by winter machine
Summary: "They should have everything. Happy people should have happy things happen to them." Addison's sad baby case in season three, with a twist. Picks up at the very beginning of episode 3.08. Addison, Derek, post-divorce, post-"I want never to see you again," except their past hits up against their present and shakes things up. Prompted by xxLittleBlackDressesxx.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_ In my defense, I never said I was anything but Addek trash. **The kind of Addek trash who posts two new stories in two days because, you know, it's not like I'm ignoring my work or anything ... anyway, this was originally a flip the script request from **xxLittleBlackDressesxx.** I wrote a Flip the Script chapter where Addison confessed to Derek that she'd had, and then hidden, a miscarriage during their marriage. **xxLittleBlackDressesxx** requested "another flip of this episode ... maybe where Derek knows about the miscarriage." I swear I was going to follow directions, despite what my kindergarten teachers would tell you, but this story took on a life of its own and I realized it needed more space/flexibility than a Flip the Script chapter would allow. So, here's a one-shot ... or the start of something ... picking up after the Jamie Carr episode. The men are back from camping, and in "Staring at the Sun," the next episode, Derek is all bright and shiny and giddy with happiness and this is where he has one of his cruelest lines ever, to Addison: "It's happiness. I understand why you wouldn't recognize it." Anyway, flip time. Derek's still giddy, but he doesn't run into Addison the next morning...

 **LBD,** this story's for you. Thanks for being an Addek goddess and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Terra Incognita**

 _Not all wounds are superficial. Most wounds run deeper than imagined._  
(Voiceover, episode 3.07, "Where the Boys Are")

* * *

"Gooood morning, Dr. Bailey!"

He draws out the syllables with satisfaction; he's practically bouncing with delight, the coffee in his hand somehow richer and sweeter than it tastes yesterday. Even the grey-blue Seattle light looks like pure sunshine.

"Morning," she says warily, eyeing him with suspicion. "What's with the cheer?"

"The cheer?"

"The greetings. The exclamation points. The – this," she gestures toward him. " _Cheer._ "

"Ah. Well, I feel great." He smiles broadly. "Great. Really great."

"...great," Bailey says in a voice he'd probably hear as a warning except that he's distracted by his own high spirits.

"See, the thing is, I'm … starting over. From the beginning."

"Where else would you start over?"

She has a point, but nothing is going to interfere with Derek's good mood. He's positively bright and shiny.

Bailey is studying him, not looking particularly impressed. "Don't tell me everyone who went on that … camping trip is going to come into the hospital this morning thinking I want to hear about their … greatness."

"I can only speak for myself."

"Can you do me a favor and speak for yourself over there so I can get my charting done?" She gestures with her chin toward the other side of the hallway.

"Of course." He gives her one more smile. "Have a _great_ day, Dr. Bailey."

He probably mishears what she says as he's walking away, because it sounds almost … blue.

But he's not going to let anyone else's gloom bring him down.

He's refreshed from camping. Renewed. He and Meredith are starting over. They're taking it slow … nice and slow. A fresh start is just what he's needed. A fresh start means he can put the past behind him.

Finally.

He picks up a stack of charts, sees Bailey glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, and ducks around the corner behind a filing cabinet. It won't do to attract her ire, not when he's feeling so good.

There are voices he doesn't recognize coming from the other side of the file cabinet. From their wide-eyed tone – yes, a tone can be wide-eyed – he thinks they're probably interns; at that stage, everything is newsworthy. As he signs his name with a flourish he hears his own name and looks up.

"Shepherd? Oh, you mean _Montgomery_ -Shepherd. She's just Montgomery now."

"She divorced him?"

"He divorced _her._ They divorced each other, I don't know, it takes two to … tango."

"So they tangoed and now she's Montgomery again, fine. Anyway, it was her case last night."

His brow crinkles as he listens. He could move – it's none of his business what Addison's cases are – and he doesn't particularly want to hear a stranger's post-mortem of his marriage. But there's no need to embarrass the interns, he supposes, so he stays where he is, listening to the interns' hushed voices waft over the filing cabinets.

"You were on her service?"

"Yeah, but they didn't want interns in the room. Montgomery and Torres, I mean. Essential personnel only."

"Torres – the bone resident?"

"Right. Because the patient slipped and fell in the shower and broke her arm."

"Wait, why was Montgomery-"

"Because the patient was pregnant, like _really_ pregnant and I saw them when they came in all happy and the baby _died_. It was like They were so happy and, like, everything was fine and they were about to have a baby and then she had to tell them their baby was dead."

Derek's mouth is dry, his heart thumping.

 _They were so happy._

 _Everything was fine._

 _They were about to have a baby._

He closes his eyes, collecting himself.

The intern said _she had to tell them their baby was dead._ Nausea curdles his stomach. It's too much to hope for that the _she_ was Dr. Torres. But even if so … the woman was Addison's patient.

Addison's pregnant patient.

"So what happened?"

"They delivered the baby. She was like … 38 weeks or something. More, I don't know."

The other intern makes a sound of displeasure. "Deliver a dead baby? Awful."

"Super awful."

They're still talking but their words have melded together in his head; all he hears is a dull white buzzing.

Addison's patient.

Addison's delivery.

 _Addison's baby._

…

"Mark." He's slightly out of breath; he's checked three floors. "Have you seen Addison?"

Mark turns around, smirking, holding a paper cup presumably probably holding cappuccino aloft. "A lot more of her than I should have, you could say."

"This isn't a joke." Derek forces a tremor out of his voice.

But everything is a joke to Mark.

"Nah," Mark says, looking confused. "Not this morning. Why?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "Last night, then?"

"No. Not last night either."

"Look, Mark-"

"I'm not covering anything up, Derek, I was at Joe's until I was paged and then – look, if you need an alibi, there's a very nice scrub nurse named … I want to say Tammy? Maybe it's Terri. Either way, she can vouch for me."

He's going to scream if he has to keep hearing Mark's voice.

Mark looks at him curiously. "You're worried about her. You're _worried_ about her."

Derek doesn't say anything.

"She must be close to death, then."

"Excuse me?" He can't keep the irritation out of his voice now.

"Come on, Derek, worrying about Addison isn't exactly your strong suit."

"Mark. I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood to hear you're not perfect, are you?"

"Drop it," he says sharply.

"I guess that's why you need an intern, right? She'll never stop being impressed by the Great Derek Shepherd? Not like the rest of us, when we get to know you."

"Shut up, Mark."

Mark pauses, looking for all the world like he's loading more ammunition. "She's a good girl," he says finally.

"Excuse me?"

"Meredith," Mark says, and Derek winces to hear her name from his lips. "We had a little chance to chat while you were on your boy scout camping trip."

"You and Meredith. Chatted?"

"Among other things."

Derek grits his teeth. "I'm not listening to you."

"In a bar."

"What?"

"So you are listening. I said we were in a bar. Simmer down, Derek, she basically said no. Apparently she's not much of a dirty ex mistress after all."

He shakes his head. "And you. You're still screwing my ex-wife, I assume."

"Of course you assume. You always assume. The thing is, Derek, and I think it's probably news to you – that you don't always know what the hell you're talking about."

"I don't have time for your games, Mark. If you don't know where Addison is, fine." He turns to leave.

"Back in New York."

"What?" Derek turns around again.

Mark raises his eyebrows.

"She went back to New York – " Derek swallows. Because of the case. It has to be. It's bad. He'll need to –

"Wow, you look pretty affected for someone who never wanted to see her again."

"Excuse me?" He stares at Mark, his heart pounding.

"Relax, Derek, she didn't go back to New York. I'm just messing with you."

He actually takes a step forward before he can stop himself. What he wouldn't give to curl his hand into a fist and mark that smirking face again.

"Stay away from me."

"What would she do in New York, Derek?" Mark's tone is a taunt. "You're here . I'm here. Did you forget she sold her practice, gave up all her friends ... for you?"

"Don't even think about making me out to be the villain here."

"I don't have to. You did a pretty good job of it yourself."

Derek turns and walks away. He's finished with Mark. He should have been finished with Mark a long time ago, but he's definitely finished now.

 _Back in New York …_

So he was lying about that. Except it doesn't sound that far-fetched. She used to go sometimes when she was …

But Mark can't be counted on for honesty.

What was that the interns said? That Addison was working with someone else.

…

"Dr. Torres?"

She's finishing a conversation with another doctor, and nods at him with a gesture suggesting he should wait. He does.

"Dr. Shepherd." She approaches when she's finished. "Can I help you?"

"Do you know where Addison is?"

Torres blinks. "Do I know where Addison is?"

Derek tries another phrasing: "Have you seen her this morning?"

"No, I haven't."

 _Damn it._ "But you saw her last night."

"Excuse me?"

"You had a case with her," he prompts.

Torres looks down at the chart she's holding. "Yeah, I had a case with her."

Derek swallows. She's not exactly making this easy. "How did she … seem?"

"How did she seem?"

"Dr. Torres," he says impatiently.

"I don't understand what you're asking," she responds.

"I'm asking … if Addison was okay."

Something flickers in Torres's dark eyes too quickly for her to lower them.

She doesn't say anything … but she doesn't have to. The answer is clear. He studies the linoleum patterns under his feet for a moment, trying not to let his memory shift. Trying not to remember-

"Shepherd."

He looks up.

"Leave her alone."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think seeing _you_ is the ray of sunshine she needs. No offense," she adds carelessly.

"No offense," he repeats, annoyed. "Dr. Torres, you don't – "

"I don't know anything," she cuts him off. "I know. Poor dreamy brain surgeon, can't catch a break, everyone trying to kill his buzz."

"Dr. Torres…"

"No, really, it's great that you're so happy. _So_ freaking happy. Except Addison has been walking around this hospital like a ghost for weeks and you never said a damned thing, so yeah, I don't think you need to be – _happy_ ing all over her right now."

He winces. "I hardly think – "

"Yeah, I noticed that," she interrupts.

"Dr. Torres," he says coolly. "I outrank you, you know."

"In the OR you do. On charts you do. And I respect that, sure, but as a human being? That is definitely up for grabs."

He doesn't say anything.

"Look," her voice softens. "I'm not a resident right now and you're not an attending. I'm Addison's friend and you … you're the guy that broke her."

He blinks. "Since when are you two friends?"

"Since the – since whenever, Shepherd. You have a problem with that?"

"No," he says, surprised. "I think it's a good thing."

Now it's her turn to look surprised.

"You think it's a good thing, she repeats doubtfully.

"Yes. She could use a friend, apparently, and you're a better choice than Sloan. I mean … other than an ill-advised bar night or two in medical school, there's no reason to believe she'll try to sleep with you."

Torres's eyes darken. "You really are an ass. Honestly, I have no idea what Addison _or_ Meredith sees in you."

Her nostrils flare and he realizes he's lost control of the situation. She hates him. She thinks he's – and she's not going to tell him where Addison is and she doesn't understand.

Of course she doesn't.

It's not like they've told anyone here.

Except if she and Addison are friends, then maybe –

She turns to stalk away and he has to stop her.

"Dr. Torres, wait – "

She half turns, looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm not – good at this," he gestures vaguely toward the air that held their heated conversation. "Just … can you please tell me if you know where my wife is?"

"You mean your ex-wife."

"That's what I said."

"No, you – okay, fine. As far as I know, she's not here."

"Not here." He pauses. "You mean she's home?"

"Home." Callie laughs but doesn't sound amused. "I guess if that's what you're going to call the hotel room she lives in then sure, she's _home_."

Something in his stomach feels heavy. "She's living in a hotel room?"

"Where the hell did you think she was living? Or were you too busy parading your _great_ mood around this hospital to give it any thought?"

Her harsh words float past him. The last time he saw Addison, she was in a hotel room, but he assumed it was just for the night. Admittedly … it never occurred to him to ask. She packed her things from the trailer when he wasn't there. That's what civil divorcing people do, they give each other space to … pack, don't they? To separate their things? Except she never quite finished, didn't pick up the last of it, not yet.

There are still a few weatherproof tubs on the porch. He could ship them somewhere or ... he hasn't reminded her of them.

"Shepherd."

He looks up.

"Okay, listen." Torres lowers her voice. "I don't know why I'm telling you this and I swear to god if you hurt her again – "

"Again?"

"Shut up," she says firmly. "Look. All I'm going to say, about … yesterday … is that she wasn't okay."

His stomach clenches. "You mean after –"

"Yeah, I mean after. She wasn't okay. She - asked me to get a drink and I would have but I got and by the time I got out of the OR she was gone."

He's stuck on three words. _She wasn't okay._

 _She's okay, right? She was fine this morning, she was kicking like crazy. She has to be okay. She's okay, right? Tell me she's okay! Derek, why won't they say anything?_

"She wasn't okay," he says softly.

"She wasn't okay," Torres says, looking at him strangely. "And she, uh, she emailed to say she called in sick today."

"Addison doesn't get sick," he says automatically, his mind elsewhere, his hands clenching.

"I'm just telling you what she said."

"Okay." He nods, wondering if his voice sounds as strange to Torres as it does in his own head. Hollow, echoing, like he's opened up something empty.

Torres is studying his face. "Okay," she repeats. "So if you want to talk to your wife, I guess you know where to find her now."

"Ex-wife," Derek corrects.

"Yeah." There's an expression on Torres's face he can't identify. "That's what I said."

…

Of course he knows how to get to the hotel. He knows her room number, assuming she hasn't moved. He doesn't _want_ to know her room number, but –

2214.

There it is, popping into his head uninvited. Last time they sent him up because he was her husband and he had ID and … they probably shouldn't do that, as a policy, but they did. They didn't announce him, and she was surprised to see him. Maybe if she'd known he was coming upstairs things would have gone differently.

She was … spacey, when he saw her that night. Numb. Maybe drunk, he didn't really think about it. He came to say his piece and he did and he was doing the right thing, telling her before starting things with Meredith. Ending it the way he should have.

She never looked at him when Mark stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, looking rage-inducingly pleased with himself. Just stared blankly ahead, frozen shoulders in her white robe.

2214\. He walks through the lobby as if he belongs there and no one stops him. She's the one who taught him how to do that. It wasn't surgery or being at the top of his class or the paychecks they started giving him when he started doing things no one else could. Commanding a room, that was all Addison, and no one stops him in the lobby.

No one prevents him from getting into the elevator and riding all the way to the 22nd floor.

His feet carry him with very little input along the carpeted hallway and her frozen face floats in front of his eyes. _I'm sorry I did that. Yeah, I'm sorry you did that too._

Then he's knocking and she's opening the door - only halfway but enough to see him and enough for her eyes to widen when she sees him.

"I ... thought you were room service," she says woodenly.

"I'm having deja vu," he says, and regrets joking when she doesn't smile.

"That deja vu is my life, Derek. What else do you think I eat in this place? Am I supposed to cook on the ... bed?"

"No ... but to be fair you never cooked in the kitchen, either, when you had one." She still doesn't smile. He rests a hand on the door. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

She shakes her head. "But why - we don't talk. We're done."

"We're divorced," he corrects her. He waits for her to say _potato, potahto_ , like she would have in the past. She always liked their wordplay.

"Derek ... what are you doing here?"

"Dr. Torres told me you were ... off today."

She freezes, subtly enough that maybe someone else wouldn't notice but her face is emblazoned in his memory for better or for worse and he sees the information register.

"You know," she says quietly.

"I know," he says.

She blinks rapidly, the way she does when she's fighting back tears.

"Addison…"

"Don't," she says.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if you were - "

"Stop _._ "

He stops. She doesn't say anything at all, just rubs the bridge of her nose.

"Headache?"

She ignores him.

"How much did you drink last night?"

She looks at him silently for a moment. "Not as much as I'll need to drink tonight to forget this conversation."

But some conversations … you can't forget.

 _Addison … Derek … we need to talk about the baby._

 _You have to say it. If you don't say it, I won't believe you._

Her fingers clenched in his, foreheads pressed together so her tears wet his face, the coaxing voice of the OB. _Addison, you can do this, just push once more. You need to push once more._ _Derek, can you … ?_ The OB sounded tired, he remembers, like this was taking something out of her too. Like she hurt – maybe she needed a drink afterwards. That's all. That's the thing about patients, even if it hurts, you put yourself together and go back home.

Derek and Addison, though? Afterwards?

Forget it.

Well. Maybe they weren't broken. It was a fissure, a little crack that started to widen until they shattered.

And then they weren't Derek and Addison anymore.

She's looking at him. There are mascara smudges under her eyes – last night's makeup that must have run down her cheeks. She always washed her face before bed. Always, no matter what –

So it's bad.

"What do you want from me, Derek?"

They're _his_ words, _what do you want from me, Addison?_ But that doesn't mean he knows how to answer them.

"I want to … talk to you," he says quietly, not necessarily knowing it's true until the words leave his mouth but then they're out there.

And she looks at him for a long moment in which he wonders if he should have said anything at all. Then finally, slowly, she pulls the door the rest of the way open and stands back to let him in.

* * *

 _To be continued? What do you think? You know the drill: you want more, press the magic button. I promise I'm still updating my WIP. I mean, I posted an enormous Climbing Way chapter last night so you know I'm still updating my WIPs! But sometimes a plot bunny demands to be written. So ... review? Lots of love from the pure Addek trash that is me._

 _Terra Incognita_ loosely translates to uncharted territory. The term was thrown around by various Camping Men in "Where the Boys Are," but I think it also describes post-divorce Addek pretty well ...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Remember this story? It's been almost a year, which is pretty wild. I won't blame you if you've forgotten it entirely and want to go back and read the first chapter before this one. It's taken me since ... last September, I guess, to figure out where I wanted to go with this. I didn't expect to have two Season 3 stories at once and I wanted to make sure I knew about the very different directions they would go in. This story is going to take some inspiration from a variety of prompts - I'll credit them as they come up. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

 ** _Terra Incognita_**  
 **Chapter 2**

* * *

She opens the door to her hotel room and backs away as he approaches until they're in much the same positions as they were the first time he visited this room.

She's looking at him, waiting, and he inhales a few times to start without saying anything.

 _I want to talk to you_. Those were his words. He wasn't certain of them until he said them, but then he knew them to be true.

Except now he doesn't know what to say.

The room feels big and empty, and not very certain at all.

And still he doesn't say anything. His feet feel rooted to the carpet. His visit feels like a mistake.

She's studying his face.

"How much did Callie tell you?" she says after long moments of silence.

"She told me enough."

Addison nods, seeming to understand what he means. She walks to the window, and for another few moments of silence he's just looking at the back of her in her long white robe.

She says something he can't make out; he asks her to repeat it, moving closer at the same time so that when she spins around to speak again he's close enough to see the smudges of makeup around her eyes again.

"I thought maybe you had forgotten about her," she says quietly.

He swallows around the pain in his throat. "How … can you say that?"

 _Forgotten._

He only has to close his eyes to be assailed with images pinned one over the other like frozen photographs. The perfect outline of her profile, on the screen. The strength of her kicks from inside. Every plan, every whispered dream at night, every impossible small outfit his sisters couldn't resist buying, every time he held his wife close to thank her, _thank you, you're amazing, you're so strong_ , for doing this, for bringing their daughter into the world.

And the day she arrived in the world.

The same day she left it.

Holding her in his arms – that same perfect face, so real and alive that it couldn't be true.

 _Derek, it's not true! You felt her kicking all night, you said she kept you up, she was kicking all morning. It's not true!_

"Addison." He shakes his head. "How could you think I would forget about her?"

She glances out the window. "You forgot about me."

"That's not fair." He runs his hands through his hair, frustrated, gathering strength.

"Did you tell Meredith … about her?"

He shakes his head.

"So you didn't tell her about either of us."

There's something else in his throat now. Anger. "It's hardly the same thing, Addison."

He doesn't specify why. He doesn't have to. _She didn't do anything wrong._

"Did you tell Callie?"

"No." Addison stares at the carpet. _There's no reason,_ that's what she said to Callie, no reason she should be upset. And it was true, in a sense, because she'd mourned and she'd dealt with it and had plenty of heartbreaking cases since then and there was no reason why this case should affect her so strongly. And Callie didn't know about the study. And there's no reason it should affect her this strongly anyway. And there's no reason Derek needs to know about it.

 _No reason._

She details it for him.

"I've had full term stillborns since then. Late term spontaneous miscarriages. Two placental abruptions, one of them right before you left New York…"

And she stops talking.

Those were different.

 _Then I also had you._

"You didn't tell her," Derek confirms. "But she – "

" – saw I was … affected, yes," Addison says stiffly. "She, uh, she followed me in the bathroom."

"She knows you that well already?"

"No. I guess maybe she does now."

She turns to look out the window again and then she feels his hand resting on the back of her neck, applying just a little bit of pressure.

"Don't," she says quietly.

"Why not?"

Because she doesn't want to be reminded of his touch. Because it's too late.

"Because you have a girlfriend," she says.

She hears him sigh behind her. Feels the warmth of him behind her leaving, his breath sounds quieting, and when she glances over her shoulder he's sitting down on the side of the bed.

Like the last time.

 _Our marriage is over._

 _Yeah, I guess it is._

There's something boyish, almost – hopeful – in his eyes, incongruously, and she sits down next to him rather than try to explore it.

He glances at her, and something catches the light.

"You're still wearing your rings."

"They're stuck. I told you."

"You didn't try soap…"

"Like your bubble bath with Meredith, you mean?"

He looks surprised and a little embarrassed, which was her goal. "Addison…"

"Surprised I know about that?"

He nods, looking troubled.

"I heard her talking to someone. Gossip gets around a hospital, you'd think you'd know that after all these years."

"Addison."

" _Soap_ ," she repeats bitterly. "You must have had a good laugh at my expense."

"I didn't," he says immediately. His face is a combination of surprise and guilt. It's Derek, faced with the unusual reality that he can cause pain. And then his eyes soften – probably thinking about his girlfriend.

His newfound happiness.

"Derek … tell me something. How did you move on so quickly?"

"You moved on while we were still married," he reminds her.

"I _didn't_ , though. I made a mistake, I get that, believe me, I think I've been punished plenty for it, but I never moved on from you. I wanted to make it work." Her voice thins and she swallows hard.

"I felt like we owed her that."

"Addison," he says quietly.

"Forget it."

"No, I don't want to, I … it's not fair for you to make this about her."

 _It's not fair. It's not fair that she doesn't – that she can't – Derek, it's not fair!_

She doesn't respond.

"I wanted to make it work too," he reminds her.

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I tried to make it work."

"You didn't do that either."

"Okay. I think this is becoming … unproductive." He stands up. "Do you have everything you need? Water, Advil, ginger ale, something greasy on the room service menu for breakfast?"

He gives her a benevolent, impersonal smile that floods her with anger, and then she's standing too.

"Screw you."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, screw you. That's a clueless question even for you. _Do I have everything I need._ Look around you, Derek, I don't have _anything_ , period."

"Addison. You're being melodramatic."

"So leave, Derek. You have no obligation to me anymore."

"That's not what I mean."

"Go back to your perfect little intern."

"Addison." He looks down at the bed. "I came here because I wanted to talk to you."

She stares at him for a moment.

"I still want to talk to you," he says quietly.

She's pulling on the ends of her hair in frustration like she used to in medical school, bent over a difficult problem set, and when she looks at him he thinks she's going to say no.

And he's not sure of his next move if she does.

"Fine," she says after a long moment. "But I want to change first."

 _We both changed. That's the problem._

She leaves him in the room and finds the first casual clothes at the top of her drawers. In the bathroom, she hangs her robe, slowly, smoothing out the creases so it will dry evenly.

When in doubt, be precise.

Be the process.

 _Keep busy._

..

"That's mine," he says, surprising her, when she rejoins him.

She looks down, confused. _Not you, he doesn't mean you. You're not his anymore._

Must be the faded Harvard t-shirt she's wearing, then.

"No, it's not. It was Archie's."

"It is," he insists. "It's the one Liz got for me when – "

"No, it's not," she repeats, but he's at her side, apparently trying to look at the tag.

"Derek, _stop._ " She pulls away sharply.

He does, looking a little hurt.

"Listen, I know you've moved on, but I – haven't, not yet, and I need you to … keep your distance."

He nods, looking a little sad for some reason.

"Derek … why did you come here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," he says quietly.

"So you said. And you've seen that I'm great." Her voice drips with sarcasm.

"You're not making this very easy, you know," he mutters.

"It's not my job to make things easy for you. We're not married anymore," she reminds him, unnecessarily. "And you have a girlfriend." She pauses. "Where does Meredith think you are now?"

"That's not your concern." He softens his tone at her expression. "I just mean – you don't need to worry about her."

" _You_ do, though."

"Addison – "

"You worry about her. You think about her."

He doesn't respond.

"You hardly know her," she says.

She doesn't sound angry, or bitter. Not even resigned. Just factual, and vaguely interested.

"I know her, Addison."

"You slept with her for a few months, and then you strung her along for double that. Barely a year, Derek."

"What's your point?"

She walks over to the window as if she's looking for something along the skyline, then turns back to him. "A few months is nothing. A year is nothing. Everything's different the first year. You only see what you want to see."

He considers this. "Is that how it was for you, our first year?"

"We were kids," Addison says quietly. "So young, so _earnest._ We didn't even … we wouldn't know how. Artifice. I don't know."

She sounds, suddenly, very exhausted, and he wonders if she's avoiding sitting down again because he's making her uncomfortable.

He sits down anyway and glances at the open space next to him. She walks about halfway back and stops, just … looking at him.

"You wanted to talk," she says. "Are you done? Have you talked?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I wanted to … say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're so unhappy in Seattle."

"Are you sorry that you're _why_ I'm so unhappy?"

His mouth twitches. "Don't sugarcoat it, Addie."

"I won't … don't worry."

"I don't want to belabor the point," he says quietly, "and I _am_ sorry you're so unhappy, but I don't think it's fair to suggest that where we ended up is entirely my fault."

"Where did we _end up_?"

"I…" His voice trails off. "You know what I mean."

"I do, but you don't know what _I_ mean," she insists. "You could have stopped all this."

"Excuse me." He expected her to blame him, and he can't fully blame her for that, not when she's alone and unhappy while he's moved on, but … it's still a little ridiculous to suggest it's entirely his fault. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I offered to leave. Derek … why couldn't you just send me back to New York when I got here? I offered, I brought papers, I …"

"Did you want to go back to New York?" he asks pointedly – at first as a challenge, and then slowly realizing that he has no idea what she intended the day she stalked into the hospital. To get him back, to rub his nose in it, to interfere with his new relationship, to stake her claim to any territory he could find?

"No," she admits. "Not without you."

He studies his folded hands.

"At least I know people there. In New York."

He looks up to see her expression is far away.

"So go back." He says it without malice. "You can move back there, Addie."

She exhales a puff of frustrated air. "That will look great on my CV. You think anyone's going to want to partner with me after what I pulled moving here on no notice?"

"So get on faculty and – "

"I'm not looking for career advice," she snaps.

He's silent for a moment. Sitting down while she's standing up feels wrong; he stands up too and she takes an automatic step back, it seems, to put more distance between them.

So she blames him for the fact that she's in Seattle. Even though she wanted him to take her back. And she knew he could never go back to New York.

He can sort of see her point there. But he wasn't playing a long game; far from it. The magnetic pull that kept drawing him back to Meredith surprised him too.

"I didn't know this was going to happen," he says finally.

"What, screwing Meredith while I was waiting for you down the hall?"

"Yes," he says simply. "I wouldn't put it exactly that way, but …"

"I did put it that way. I do. It's just …" She pauses, presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Addie …"

She doesn't stop him approaching or doesn't notice it but she jerks away when he touches her shoulder.

"Don't."

He nods.

He's tired too; he sits back down on the bed and just … waits for her; after a moment she sits next to him.

The weight of his hand settles on her shoulder this time, and she lets it.

They sit in silence for a few long moments while she ignores the sound of his heartbeat and he pretends not to recognize the scent of her shampoo.

"How did you do it?" she asks finally. "How did you move on so fast?"

"I … I don't know." He studies his steepled fingers, and then she does too.

His long familiar fingers, that have touched her a thousand times in a thousand different ways, that used to communicate without words … they're just fingers, now.

No ring.

"I don't understand it," she says. "How you can just – turn it off. Just turn off everything."

"That's not …" His voice trails off. "There's no switch to turn to just … turn off loving someone you've loved for so long," he admits after a long moment.

She blinks, taking in his words.

"I'm surprised to hear you say that … because it's exactly what you did."

"No, it's not." He pauses. "Maybe I'm better at faking it than you are."

She shakes her head. "No, Derek. If you remembered what we had, you wouldn't … act the way you did. The way you have been."

"What way is that?"

"Like I'm less than nothing."

"Addison …"

"I know, Derek. I know you don't owe me anything. It's just – you don't need to cut me down either."

"I … didn't. I don't think I did."

His face looks – innocent, of course it does. Derek always looks innocent. It would be so easy to agree, to take all the responsibility.

"You couldn't be rid of me fast enough."

"That's not fair, Addie, I tried. I did. And I'm not rid of you. You still live here, don't you?"

"Yeah." She stands up off the bed. "Don't remind me."

"I know things are – difficult right now, but is Seattle really that bad?" He joins her at the window.

"Don't make me answer that," she says. Her tone is light enough that she might be kidding, but when she looks at him there are tears pooling in her sea green eyes, greener where they're moist and he feels the need to leave before he does something stupid.

Except he can't; something is keeping him here.

Duty, he assumes.

Obligation.

What we owe to each other.

"Addie, I know you don't know as many people here as you do in New York. Or have as many … friends. But we can be friends," he says. "You and I. We can be friends."

Her eyebrows arch. "Like you and Meredith were friends?"

His vision blurs with a dozen memories of seeking Meredith out: at the hospital. On the trail with Doc barking happily between them. _Does Addison know we're friends_?

"I guess I deserve that," he admits.

He's tired. He feels tired. The bed meets the back of his legs and he's sitting, hands on his thighs, gathering breath. She stands there watching him for a while, and then she sits down next to him.

"I miss you," she says very quietly.

His stomach hollows. "Addie …"

"No, I just mean – I miss you almost enough to say _yeah, let's be friends_ , even if it's a terrible idea and will make everything worse because … then I'd get to see you, maybe. So I can't exactly blame Meredith for doing the same thing. When we were married."

It's a little convoluted, but he gets it.

"Does that mean that you – "

"No." She shakes her head. "I don't know how to erase everything, Derek. I don't know how to forget everything. I wish I did."

She presses one hand to her face.

Carefully, he reaches out to wrap an arm around her and she lets him; she doesn't lean fully into him but she doesn't shove him off either. They sit there for long moments breathing quietly together.

"I didn't forget her," he says finally. "I didn't. And I didn't forget you either."

"Okay." She keeps her voice steady with all she has; it's not easy. "Thank you for saying that."

"I'm not just saying that, Addison. I mean it." He draws back, reaching to brush a piece of stray hair from her face, automatically. She flinches a little as if she expects him to hurt her.

"Addie."

"Derek … please don't," she says softly.

But he keeps going, perhaps unwisely.

"The _friends_ thing – I wasn't trying to – I just mean you can talk to me. You know, if you …"

"Have a lousy day?"

He nods.

Her mouth twists a little, foretelling tears. "What if _you're_ the cause of my lousy day?"

"Then I'm sorry," he says simply. "I hope I'm not the cause of any others."

"But you might be." She looks at him. "You're … dating Meredith. That's why you're so happy."

"I'm dating Meredith. Or trying to, anyway. We don't need to talk about this," he adds automatically.

Addison is still studying his face. "She makes you happy?"

He looks uncomfortable. "Addie …"

"I used to make you happy," she says softly.

"You did. And I used to make you happy, too," he reminds her.

She ignores his comment. "And now you walk around the hospital like you don't even know me. Like I'm a stranger."

"I don't – I don't know how to do this, Addie. I've never been divorced before."

"How do you go from living with me and – plans, Derek, we were making plans, we had … tickets for things, a calendar, we had reservations, we had _plans_ – "

He stems the pity party with a brief handful of words: "We had plans when you slept with Mark, too."

"But I'm _actually_ sorry I did that," she says. "I've apologized every way I can, I tried to make it up to you, I spent a year doing penance, it is _not_ the same thing. I tried from the beginning to show you how sorry I was. You couldn't even be bothered to _talk_ to me afterwards. To tell me what you did with her. I had to find out myself."

"I looked for you," he says abruptly. "To try to talk to you, after the prom, I called every hotel I could think of and …"

"And that's it. No friends to ask."

"You're friends with Callie Torres."

"Now, maybe. Not then."

"You're still angry with me," he says. "For … the prom. For the prom?" He says it again as if he's not sure. As if he's forgotten everything that led up to it.

"No. I don't know. I'm sad. This is sad."

"Yeah." His shoulders pitch forward, just a little bit. Enough for her to notice. "This is sad."

They sit side by side without speaking on the end of the bed. She looks everywhere but at the door to the bathroom that opened that night, steam rolling around Mark's chiseled body and smirking face. Whatever his intent, what he did was absolve Derek of any guilt he had for the end of their marriage. What a pal he was to Derek. What a friend.

That night her husband looked at her like a stranger, with cool amusement, even excitement for the rest of his life without her.

Except she knows he started the process of forgetting her long before that night.

Of pretending their marriage never mattered.

Rewriting history.

"We had something, Derek." Her voice shakes a little. "It wasn't nothing, it wasn't … maybe things were bad, by the end, and maybe you wish I'd never come out to Seattle at all, but we had something special. You and me."

"I know that," he says quietly. "I know we did. Look, Addie, if you need – "

"I don't," she says. _I don't need anything from you._

It's not the first time she's said it.

It's not the first time it's been a lie.

His face is unreadable and then something flickers in his eyes.

"Have lunch with me," he proposes.

"Excuse me?"

"Lunch. With me. Tomorrow."

"Derek, I just said – "

"I know you don't need anything from me. But you do need lunch. Everyone needs lunch."

She shakes her head, tired all over again at this – hearty version of him. The chipper one. The happiness that has nothing to do with her.

"No," she says simply.

"Do you have other plans for lunch?" he persists.

"You know I don't."

"Then eat with me."

"Derek, you don't have to – "

"I know I don't. And you don't have to say yes."

His face morphs, fills out into youth again, and he's waiting for her answer to a very different question.

 _Look, you don't have to say yes, but I want to ask you anyway – okay, Addie, you've got to stop crying because you're going to get so mad at me if your face is all puffy when we take pictures –_

She said yes, then.

He asked, and she said yes, and life happened and they signed their names and now … they're here.

"Fine. Maybe." She sounds irritable – he's not sure what he expected. "If I'm not working," she adds.

Which is pretty much saying _no_ outright without saying it.

He doesn't really want to leave like this. Or he shouldn't, anyway. It's not right.

"Addison – "

"Derek, it's okay." She pushes her hair away from her face. "Look … I'm tired," she says.

Like so many times, it's an understatement.

He doesn't push it. He pushes to his feet instead, just nodding.

Her hands are weaving over each other, fussing with the hem of the t-shirt he's still confident was his first. She does look tired. But not at ease.

"Are you sure … ?"

He stops talking. He sees her gaze flicker toward a bottle of wine on the bedside table.

He supposes he can't blame her for expecting more comfort from that bottle than from him, for waiting for him to leave so she can try to soothe the pain.

"Okay." He studies her closed face for a moment; she's looking away. "Try to get some sleep, Addie," he suggests.

She walks him to the door, but he has the sense it's more to ensure his exit than out of any desire to keep talking.

"Addison." He tries one more time. "If you need – "

"I'm fine. I appreciate your checking on me," she says stiffly, as if she's thanking the caterer after one of her charity events, and he has to pull his hand away when she closes the door, leaving him on the other side.

..

He stands on the thick carpet outside the door to her hotel room, breathing deeply, gathering himself. He's exhausted.

He needs a solitary drive to the peace of the woods. He needs a hot shower, and a drink, and clean green air. He needs to be alone. He needs the space to forget tonight.

 _I didn't forget her. And I didn't forget you either._

Her face is hanging in the front of his vision though, pale with faintly smeared with makeup, a blank canvas for the sadness that's harder to ignore when he's looking right at her.

 _Fine_ , she said about lunch. _Maybe._

She won't let him make amends.

She won't let him do anything.

He's halfway down the hall when he realizes he doesn't like the way they left things.

He's almost at the elevators when he figures out he can try to change that.

She wanted – he's not sure what she wanted. Apologies? Sympathy? To talk? He said he wanted to talk to her, and then he … said things. And so did she.

And he has the uncomfortable feeling he left her worse than he found her.

The bottle of wine on her bedside table – she must have been waiting to drink it.

He walks faster, almost back at her door now. He can fix this. He can have a drink with her, keep her company for a little while longer so she's not drinking alone. He can do that much. He'll chase it with water and be fine to drive back to the trailer, and then he can have his peaceful night alone.

It's simple.

"Derek?" she asks, sounding confused when she pulls open the door, apparently having looked through the peephole this time. "Did you forget something?"

He opens his mouth to answer.

Addison is looking up at him curiously, her eyes huge in the low light. She blinks a little like he woke her up, but he's the one who's starting to feel like he's been half asleep.

"Derek? Are you okay?"

Now she looks worried.

He puts out a hand – to reassure her, he thinks, but then it's touching her warm skin and the soft worn material of her shirt; her eyes are widening and then her arms are around him – and his around her – she's falling into him as the door closes behind them and braces both their bodies, as their lips crash together with far less finesse than urgency.

He almost forgot that nothing with Addison is _simple._

* * *

 ** _To be continued. Not in a year. And I'm trying this new thing where I write human-sized chapters. It's going to let me update more. So expect the next few to be shorter, but faster, and if you want to keep reading I hope you'll encourage me along. I don't write non-Addek Addek so this will be a reconciliation story, but as the title indicates, this is uncharted territory. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you'll let me know what you think._**


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